


i think we're gonna be okay

by we_have_cake



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Heartbreak, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I put so much work into this and i would appreciate if someone read please, Implied Sexual Content, Learning to cope with loss, M/M, Please read, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, it'll be awhile before the smut comes kids, theres a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-07-15 22:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16072289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_have_cake/pseuds/we_have_cake
Summary: down a double-decker highway, it's a last grasp at our dreams. we're the cursed kids, the misfits, ones never as they seem&13 boys. All with internal struggles and battles.Sometimes you find comfort in those you least expect, and sometimes it's okay not to be okay.a story to inspire hope and reassure you that you are not alone. things get better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> when 'you' is used, most usually it's referring to the person they lost, with the exception of the first paragraph and a couple other instances.

w o n w o o

 

Being roommates with a psychology major pays off. Like when he walks you through the 5 stages of grief and he doesn't make you talk, doesn't make you voice the words you want so desperately to keep inside. To keep safe.  
He was perfect.  
People tend forget how much silence can help at times like these.

 

He holds my hand as if it's made of glass, and lets me curl up into his lap and cry. He lets me ruin his soft cotton shirts with tears and he holds onto me like a lifeline.

 

It's been 3 weeks since the funeral and it's the same thing every day, it had been ever since you died. Tears. Too much sleep, too little. There's almost no talking anymore, and I have yet to classify it as a blessing, or a curse. Sometimes, the silence is comforting. Warm.  
Others it's suffocating, the room buzzes with it and there's not anything to distract me from my thoughts.  
I hate it then.

Every day, and he's here. Making sure I don't cry myself into dehydration or do something stupid.  
I want to go to your apartment, I want to lay in your bed and pretend you're next to me, bask in the you that isn't quite you anymore.  
And he doesn't let me. He cares about me after all and knows my mental state couldn't take it.

 

The tears that had come to a slow start up again and he rubs soothing circles on my back, hands cold against my skin. Your hands were always warm, sliding underneath my thick jumpers and filling me with electricity and life. I'd never feel that again.  
I cry harder, and everything about me is shaking. I find it hard to breathe for the millionth time this week.

I feel a panic attack coming on. I had no idea what one felt like until I lost you, and I keep thinking about it. I keep thinking about every single moment over and over in my head, I keep thinking of you, and your little habits and your everything and all of a sudden I can only feel the tears running violently down my face and the shaking in the core of my being.  
Everything hurts.  
The thought of you hurts, but I can't stop thinking.

He's holding me tighter now and I can feel how tense he is. I can't see through hot tears but I know how he is when he cries, scrunching up his eyes acting like he can keep in the pain and suffering. The hurt, because he has to keep it in for some reason I have yet to figure out. Some people are anomalies like that.

For someone so put together you assume he wouldn't be like this ever. No one does until they see it, and I've seen my fair share. I'm holding onto his arm with a vice-like grip, we're both shaking with the intensity of the pain. Heads and hearts pounding and each beat screams that suffering.

I feel that feeling again. That intense desire to be by your side, the one that has me feeling like I want to throw up.

About an hour later, Mingyu finally moves me to his bed, laying down next to me and wrapping his arms around me. He knew I couldn't stand to lay in my bed, lay alone. He knew me like that.  
He was able to force some water into my system and my mind felt a bit clearer then it had earlier.

I look over to him and I notice the red flakes around his eyes, buried underneath pale skin. He never cries. The muscles aren't used to that. His blood vessels pop, and leaves him looking like he has red freckles, little dots on his face. It suits him, somehow and simultaneously makes me even sadder. He has to wear his pain.

It looks dark outside, but I've slept so much I've lost my perception of time, the black out curtains that close every window in the apartment, keeping us separated from the world not helping that factor.

 

I'm tempted to fall asleep again. My body is heavy with tiredness and emotional exhaustion. I feel like shit, smell terrible and I don't remember when I last ate.

I fade in and out if consciousness, hating myself every second, feeling uncontrollable tears rolling down my cheeks.

 

Somewhere in there I realize I'm being picked up and carried, out of the pitch black room and into the light.  
I wonder if I'm dying.  
Then I'm snapped back to cool reality when I'm set on the bathroom counter, off-putting florescent lighting making me squint. I look into the mirror hanging in the bathroom door and I cringe at my reflection.

I look...  
I look so fragile.

 

When I can finally open my eyes fully, I see the bathtub being filled with water and bubbles, and Mingyu starting to undress slowly, almost as if he's desperately trying to avoid bruises that don't exist on his skin.

He can almost sense I'm to tired to move, so he assists me in removing my clothes and lifts me into the bathtub, sitting behind me. His knees poke out of the water, height not always to his advantage, and I draw small patterns on them as he slowly starts to wash my hair.  
He's using his shampoo, he knows I love it more than mine.

And I can't use mine right now. Because you always used it, and I can't have you flooding my senses again, when I'm hardly prepared.

 

Mingyu fills my senses for the moment, the smell of him, the calming and comforting sensation of his fingers moving deftly across my scalp. I breathe it in as I had done with you many times. I lean back against his cool being, even in warm water he carries that lack of heat, letting my eyes fall close as he washes my hair and rubs at the knots that are prominent in my back.

 

We don't speak, and I'm grateful. My voice is most likely strained and broken and hoarse, too many sobs and not enough liquids. While Mingyu tried to keep me healthy, he was also grieving. He had his own internal battles.  
He takes a cup if water and pours it across my head, rinsing the soap from my hair and helping to clear my clouded thoughts.

 

Reluctantly I move, he looks at me as if I'm crazy when I have him sit in my place, moving behind him and in turn I cover my hands in sweet smelling soap and run them through his hair. He keens into my touch, and I can feel him begin to relax.

He needs this almost as much as I do, nurturing another person after a loss is taxing, tiring, and I figured he needed a small break. This, for the moment was our escape, our temporary paradise within the darkness of the apartment walls and the pain that lies within them. I don't want to leave this. I don't want to be alone.

 

* * *

 

m i n g h a o

The thing is it always returns.  
Without a doubt, I'll forget and the next day it hits me in the face like a fucking freight train.  
I'll be too drunk even before the party, cheap wine coolers making it hard to put on even the slightest tad of makeup, trying to hide bloodshot eyes from zero sleep the night before, and I'm crawling on top of him trying to trick my brain into thinking that it's you.

The thing is he's not the same.  
He never will be, but it's not too hard to pretend, play our little game in my drunken ruse and late nights adrenaline.

Only this time it's three am. The alcohol has worn off and the buzz has been replaced with a pounding headache and a dull pain in my chest. He's still here.  
He should've been gone by now, discarded clothes picked up off the floor, mine neatly folded and set on the side table, and a sticky note stuck to the door of whatever guest room we're in, simply saying in sloppy handwriting we should do this again sometime.

But that's not the case, I turn and he's still here, breathing smooth and even and eyes peacefully closed. I'm jealous he can have that.  
I draw small shapes on his exposed skin, relishing in this moment while I have the chance. I didn't have to wake up alone. I try not to over think technicalities and just let things be.

I gaze into the mirror that takes up almost the entire wall next to the bed, unaware that I'm syncing my breathing with Chan's until I start to feel somehow calmer.  
We look too surreal.  
Too picture perfect, and my mind was in a battle with itself on whether I was satisfied and I enjoyed this, or I despised it with every fiber of my being.

Whatever it is, I'm not sure i can process it.

I slide from under Chan's arm, silently cursing myself when his face scrunches together in the desperately cute, yet bothered way.  
I slide back into my clothes, putting on my shoes without making too much noise and I don't bother with the laces, and finally I dig around in Chan's clothing, knowing exactly what I'm looking for and where to find it.

Lighter. Dented pack of cigarettes, both shoved into the pocket of his lavender leather jacket, which was 'iconic' as Jeonghan had put it.

 

I step out of the room and onto the balcony, met with the sky line of Seoul and cool night air, the soft wind threading through my hair and lights having me staring. I can hardly believe I'm ruining it with something as docile as a cigarette but the body wants what it wants and I'm all too tired to argue, giving in. I've gotten too good at that.

 

It takes a few clicks of the lighter to finally produce a flame, the sparks having my captivated. I'm finally able to light one up and I set it to my kiss stained lips and inhale, almost rancid nicotine smoke rushing in my lungs and I hold it there, burning my insides and I let it, chest held tight before I push it out, slow and even through pursed lips.

Everything looks and feels so beautiful, so gorgeous just like...

Just like you.

You would've loved this. Made some poetic gesture and made me laugh. You would've stayed by my side. You would've kept me sane.  
But you're not here and the harsh reality stabs me with a cold knife.  
You're not here.  
And you never will be again.

I don't notice tears are dripping down my face until all of a sudden they're being wiped away by Chan, now fully dressed and somehow looking like he didn't just smoke cush until his eyes were bloodshot and he was loopy, like he didn't down half a whisky and crawl into bed, somehow managing to fuck my brains out through it all.  
Looking ethereal, as always. Sometimes I think he's too him to be real.

"You alright?"

"Yeah."  
It's short simple sharp and I know instantly he doesn't believe me.

 

"Talk to me?" He's holding my hands in his and plucking the cigarette from between my fingers, taking an inhale himself and letting the smoke be removed from his tarred lungs and carried away by the crisp air. Like it was never there in the first place.

If only he knew it wasn't that simple

"It's nothing I swear." He can tell its a lie the second it drops from my lips, I see him face fall but his expression stiffen soon after, handing the cigarette back.

"You can be that way all you want, hyung," the honor title is dripping with spite and it leaves me biting back a scowl. "but you can't run forever. You have to face yourself and the shitty things you've done at some point."  
He sighed, and I simply continue to stare at the ground.

"I gotta go. Call me, alright? Don't die of alcohol poisoning, I couldn't deal with that." This sounds genuine. I want to cry again.

He leaves. And I feel like a part of me leaves with him.

Even now I don't know exactly how I ended up where I am. Fucking around, drinking and getting high until you start to fade and nothing but the dull and empty pain in my chest reminding me that I can actually fucking hurt. And then the next morning I'm back to remembering.  
I try, I try so hard to forget you and the way you filled me with life and electricity and made me feel like I was enough, like I was worth it. I was willing to give that part of me that was you away, willing to lose half myself to lose the memory of you. I'm so tired and pained and done with hurting because I loved you with everything I had and everything I did was for you and I.  
I loved you, and my deepest fear came true.

I lost you.

I'm void of love. And I wish I was void of you instead.

The cigarette takes my last deep breath of the night and I put it out on the balcony railing.  
I go back inside  
I make my way through the people scattered across the floor of the apartment, avoiding bodies that look close to death, and I walk the streets of Seoul toward the only place I feel at home anymore. And I'm crying all the way there.

 

* * *

 

 

j i h o o n

They told me I'd be okay. Told me to call every day to check in, just to keep my head up, take deep breaths, 'Jihoon it's going to be okay. You got this.'

But they didn't know you.  
They never did.  
And now they never will.

 

What they didn't know is we made plans, spent hours calculating flight costs, hotel prices and what we would do. Talked about how the second we saw each other we would cry our eyes out in each others arms.  
So, so many plans all carefully thought out, and I never in a million years thought that the first time I would ever see you face to face would be at your funeral.

Before two days ago car crashes were only another tragedy on the news that didn't affect me.

As I walk from the plane and into the airport, my chest is tight.  
I've now flown halfway across the fucking country and I guess it just finally hits me.  
I've left home with nothing but a suitcase and the clothes on my back, calling a cab and nothing feels right. I put my suitcase into the truck, climb into the back and I put up the divider.

"I miss you"

A wait a couple seconds, and hear that ding I'm so tired of hearing, echoing in my chest.

Message not sent.

My hands thread through my hair and I tug, hard, gritting my teeth and I can't see anything. I can't feel anything except the tightness in my chest.  
Stale air fills my lungs and its hard to breathe  
Is that what crying is supposed to feel like? Like your dying? What does dying feel like? My hands reach for my phone and I type it into the search engine, realizing a second too late there's no wifi.

I throw my phone onto the seat and bury my head in my hands, scrunching up my eyes and try to rub you from the back of my eyelids.

It doesn't work. This is the most agonizing taxi ride of my life, and most of my life has been spent in the back of one, lungs full of second hand nicotine as the driver attempts to hide the cigarette or vape in their hands.  
I'm just dreading the moment he'll tap the glass and tell me I'm there, but I know it has to come.  
I'm dreading the moment I have to walk up to the door you walked up to over and over and over and over, dreading having to look the mother you hated so much in the eye, dreaded having to do this but it wasn't for them.  
It wasn't for me, it was for you.  
And it always has been.

The taxi comes to a slow as do my tears, and the moment I've been dreading arrives and now i have to.  
I have to hand the driver 50 bucks and tell him to keep the change because I don't have the energy to figure anything out right now.  
How much do taxi drivers get paid?  
What's the mileage on a car like that?  
What would it take to die in a car crash?

I remove my suitcase from the trunk.

How do you escape the back of a car trunk?  
What do you do if your taxi driver kidnaps you?

I lug it behind me as I approach the door I've only seen pictures of and it feels too real.

I stand at the door.  
Fist raised and about to knock but I hesitate, I hesitate like you always tell me not too. I could just drop this suitcase and run, around your neighborhood that you were supposed to walk around, breathe in cool autumn air and run until my lungs completely give out and my feet hurt and I'm lost.  
I want to be lost.

Before I can make that decision the door falls open and I'm greeted with her. I tense and so does she, staring at me with sad and sonder eyes through the screen door, a glass of wine held in her hand and tears clearly forming in the corners of her eyes and all I can think of this the hurt that surrounds her being in a thick cloud.

I can feel it.

My name slips from your mothers lips and its too real, its too real as the opens the door and sets the glass down and engulfs me in her and we're crying together, on the doorstep of the house that is haunted with you.  
It's too real, as she strokes my hair.

It's too real, realizing that you're gone and nothing can or will change that.

It's too real.  
As I feel tears start to run again and my chest is still tight.

My parents were worried, that it wouldn't be real and it was a trap to get me to come to Seoul so they could kidnap me or something, but they were wrong. And it breaks me.  
Because I'm safe, and you're gone. I don't want to be here without you.

But here I am, crying in your mothers arms on your front porch I had only ever seen pictures of. Here I am, wondering what I'm supposed to do without you here. Here I am. Without you by my side, maybe I just want to be able to take a piece of you and leave.  
Be by myself.  
I could do it. I could have that, but right now I couldn't put myself first. It was for you. It always has been.

But I never thought the first time I would ever see you face to face would be at your funeral.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

v e r n o n

  
I literally need sleep.  
 My body craves it, and dark bags under my eyes that seem permanent hurt.

 God. I don't want to sleep. The only thing flooding my mind is you and your smile and laugh and everything that you do. And how you're gone.

I haven't cried once you know.   
I feel bad.   
I'm sorry?   
Is it weird, I'm apologizing even though you're dead?

But like, I'm sorry I haven't cried. I haven't been able to. I don't know why. Maybe it's just the way I am. I don't know.   
I'm even tired of thinking. How many days has it been? How many Monsters have I drank? How much of that concealer that  you bought for me on a whim have I used?

You would've told me to sleep. I would've listened.   
But you're not here anymore so I don't have to listen to you. Even though sometimes I feel like you're still here. I can do what i want.   
Even not cry.   
Although crying might be nice.

  
I wonder if I'll go to school tomorrow  
Or just ditch again   
For the fifth time this week.

It's Friday tomorrow. Right?   
Maybe I've been ditching and its just been the weekend.  
But weekends don't last for weeks. And there aren't any holidays you would've reminded me of those already.   
But maybe there is a holiday.   
And I don't know because you're not here.   
My eyes are falling closed but I don't let them, sitting up in bed and rubbing vigorously and I'm trying to wake myself up more. I wonder if I have any monster left. I'm too lazy to look...  
That means I need more Monster.

When did I last like, have something to eat. You would tell me to eat.  But you're not here, so you can't.   
I wonder if Seungkwan will call again tonight.   
He might. He's worried about me, he likes to call and see if I pick up. He wants me to sleep.   
If he calls ill probably ignore him. So he thinks I'm sleeping.

But will that make him worry more? He should be sleeping actually, he needs it more than I do. Right?   
I'm questioning myself a lot lately.

Too much in fact.

I try to look up at the ceiling. I can't, because it's probably like two am and dark. Like it usually is at two am.

I wonder what it would be like to be blind. And not see anything.   
All the time.

Can blind people still see light? Or is everything dark for them? 

I wonder if when you died, everything was dark for you. Is there really that light? Or is there just a comforting darkness. Maybe you were in darkness even before you died, and it was only a matter of time before you died.

I stretch, lifting my arms over my head and my back makes a cracking noise. I reach over to my side table where about 10 empty cans of Monster lay and my phone.

I grab it, open up voice recorder and you fill the room. And suddenly I'm so glad you used to steal my phone.  
 I wonder how many recordings you left me, like I scroll through the list and the songs seem endless, cover after cover, after cover of you trying so hard to get those notes right.   
You always had those notes right.   
Even when I, the annoying little brother, would tell you otherwise.

  
I miss you making me listen to your singing. Even though I always said that it annoyed me, I liked it. You taught me how to rap. Do you still remember that?   
I was about 9.  
I had gotten angry, fists balled and teeth clenched as I spat out angry words that were all slurred together and had no meaning I just had to get something out there.   
You took my hands in yours, and I tried to tug away but you help me closer, improvising something I don't even remember the words to, all I remember is that it calmed me down and made my breath even.

When you started, I thought you were just talking fast. But your words had meaning, they had a hint of melody and a beat and it felt like there was art just, falling from your lips.  
My eyes lit up and I begged you to teach me, jumping up and down, all anger forgotten.   
Feelings were simpler back then.   
You spoke me through a couple nursery rhymes. I called you stupid and to just teach me, but I did it anyway.   
Humpty Dumpty.   
Mary had a little lamb.   
Jack and Jill.   
Hey diddle diddle.   
You made me go through the words over and over until I could chant them in my sleep, (I actually did that a couple times, according to you), and my pronunciation got better and I picked up the pace and you told me I had talent. You taught me to use it.   
Use music as an outlet and I did, it felt like I was part of something bigger than myself, than my anger and I was making art. My tongue was dripping with poetry and I was something more.

I don't remember the last time I wrote a lyric. You would probably be at my desk, with a cup of tea and a warm pat on the back, reading through crumpled pieces of paper and reworking lines so the words fell into place. Outline the cracks with gold so that even they had a standing role. Something worthwhile.

You made things work. You made things fit. But now everything just felt like a puzzle, that was missing pieces but I was still trying to make it whole again.

 

* * *

 

  
j o s h u a

  
"It's almost Halloween you know."

"Seungcheol it's the begining of October. Not Halloween, not yet."

"But it will be soon."

It feels like its come too early. Like there should be so much more time left until it comes.

He sits down on the ottoman and takes my hands in his, he's trying to look me in the eye but my gaze is glued to the floor.   
"Josh-" he uses that voice. The one that always gets me.

"Seungcheol-" I whine, taking more favor to burying my head in his chest then actually looking at him.   
"C'mon, don't make me do this-"   
"Too late." He laughs, picking me up bridal style and carrying me to our room, sitting me down on the bed and practically making me look him in the eye.   
"You are going to shower, get dressed, and we are going over to your moms house. She deserves to see the son she loves so very, very dearly." I sigh, looking at him with eyes that plead for him to let it go.   
He wasn't having it.   
"Go, now. Please?"

He can see me about to try and fight with him on it but instead he presses a finger to my lips, looking me in the eye intensely.

"Joshua~" he whimpers, moving his finger and placing his lips on mine. "Please?"

I sigh, placing my hands on his toned chest as I push him away playfully. "Fine. I'll do it. You must take me for dinner or something after though."

He nods, leaving the room and giving me privacy.

Ten minutes later I've showered, washed my face, brushed my teeth and while I was mid staring into the mirror and giving myself a mental pep talk Seungcheol knocks on the door timidly, slowly poking his head in. I wonder how it looks for him, I'm bent over the sink looking myself into the eye and now that i think about it I probably look like- "Are you having an existential crisis or something?"

Bingo.

"If I am will it get me out of going?" I say

"No." he says

"Fuck."

He laughs.

I glare at him.

"This is a terrible idea you know."

He ignores my statement and only throws my clothes at me, telling me to get dressed.

I feel like a full sized toddler.

  
It was a quiet ride, but he held my hand the entire way there and made me feel like I could actually get through this.   
Hopefully I could.  
Highly unlikely though.

He pulls into the driveway. Opens my door for me. Holds my hand tightly as we walk toward the door. He knocks. The door opens.

She looks sadder than I remember, but her face lights up at the sight of me and I can't help but feel guilty, somewhere deep down. Seungcheol goes in for a hug, wrapping his strong arms around her and she smiles sweetly. She turns toward me, giving me the same and leads us inside, we slip our shoes off and before I know it I'm sipping tea on the floor, staring into the fire place while flames dance back and forth and my mother talks about the weather while Seungcheol nods along. 15 minutes pass. 30.   
I know what's coming.

 

"So, Jisoo."   
This takes my attention from the fire, meeting my mothers eyes.

  
"Have you forgiven him yet?"

  
She knows what she's doing and it makes my blood boil, Seungcheol gives me a looked tied between empathy and sympathy, I can see him preparing to get up if I try and leave.   
I stand and do just that, turning on my heel and I pull on my shoes, not bothering to tie the laces as I let the door slam and I get into the car.

I wait for Seungcheol to follow behind me, I can see him through the living room window apologizing to my mother and the look on his face that silently tells her she crossed a boundary, for the millionth time.   
He treks through the rain that had begun to fall and climbs into the drivers seat next to me. He turns on the heat, and rests his head on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath.

"This was a bad idea." He muttered.

"I told you."

"You did."

He sits up and backs out of the driveway, and I'm not sure where we're going but it doesn't matter at this point, as long as I'm away from her.

"Josh?"   
I look up and into his eyes, for only a second as he focuses back on the road spanning out in front of us.   
"We're going to go see him."

  
My breath catches and I want to argue, I want to run but I know at this point it would be fruitless.   
He's dead set on this, and in a way I can't blame him.  
He stops by a supermarket and picks up a bouquet of flowers, and when he gets back into the car he hands them to me with a look that I read as, 'you know what to do.'

  
The rain had come to a slow as he enters the graveyard. Pulls up to the lot. Puts the car in park, and I half expect him to come with me but I know he won't. He knows this is for me to do.

He watches me go, stepping over stones as the grass squishes  under my shoes.   
I stop at the grave of my father, flowers in hand, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

  
"I'm not forgiving you," I whisper, my voice shaking. "Not even in death." 


	3. Chapter 3

s e o k m i n

'I started to disappear far before I cut ties with the world. Slowly slinking back into the depths of my mind. Not to say I didn't want to live, no, but saying that I didn't find my joy in myself. I was drifting away before I knew what drifting away was.   
I started not saying anything, for an hour. For a day.   
And days turned to weeks, and I was mute. It was liberating, sometimes it felt combining but I grew used to the silence. I grew used to not being acknowledged.   
People would tell me they were worried, but I never was. I felt okay, even though it wasn't an emotion I still felt it. It was like the silence, warm and soft and it embraced me. That was the first time when I felt I could really do it. As a person with little connections, it wouldn't be hard, and it wasn't.   
Like most things, it progressed slowly but surely. I disappeared.

I stopped going to the coffee shop down the street. I started holding myself up in my apartment, and making myself coffee instead as I lazily stared out the balcony window as the leaves fell from the trees. Maybe that's how I am, I thought, escaping what I always knew, and becoming my own being.

I went to places I was a stranger, no one knew my name, my origin, status, and no one was worried or cared.   
When they learned my first name and started to call me by it, I left. Vanished. Never went to that cafe again, and maybe it was for the best.

Now suppose that you disappeared. And no one cared. Most would feel lonely. Betrayed. I never felt any of that, never felt the empathy of someone else because I didn't need it. This is what I wanted.   
Only Joshua still kept in contact. But I wonder how long that will last. So I turn off my phone.   
I've memorized his number, I'd rely on pay phones from that point on, until  I was ready.   
Deleted my social media with no warning, deactivating my accounts, deleting subscriptions. Turned off my computer. No longer paid for wifi, I had no use for it after all. I covered all clocks, eating when I felt like it, sleeping when it got dark and I ignored all plans and sense of time. It was that, when I fell into nothingness. People would try and come to my house, a range of worried and timid knocks adorning my door, but it was never opened for them. I called Joshua, who told everyone lies about me, spread false stories. I let the memory of me, become a muddy legend.

And it was liberating. 

I could remake myself, becoming who I always wanted to be, what society wouldn't let me be, and I could start anew. So that's what I did.

A one way ticket to Seoul, it's easier to get lost in big cities, bought anonymously and like that I was someone new. No longer Lee Dokyeom, the boy who was stuck with a nickname from kindergarten and was taken as a joke, but Lee Seokmin, the man with his future in the palm of my hand and ready to take on the world.

A new sense of style, a new haircut, a new me, quite literally. With my life savings packed in a suitcase I felt ready for everything and anything. I could make it.

And I would.

No family left but it didn't matter, now I was my own person with no ties to anyone else, now I could find myself.

  
I'm currently sitting alone in a quaint little cafe on the outskirts of Seoul, and I'm smiling as if there is no tomorrow. I feel content. As I sip the foam from the top of my mug I can't help but think that this is who I'm supposed to be.'

 

  
I close my journal with a content sigh, smiling out onto the world where rain softly pitter patters against the pavement, light shining through in a wonderfully woeful way, poetic simply to say. I contemplate leaving, making my way back home before the rain gets worse but I decide to sit it out instead.   
It seems the people around me have decided the same, sitting back with their eyes glued to the television as the news caster rants on and on about the rain. I do suppose that maybe a picture of weather is worth about two thousand words in the mind of the news, and that case is more likely when there's nothing else to talk about.

I see someone approach, and I take a sip of my drink and look up into possibly the most awe-striking eyes I've witnessed. There were never eyes this vibrant in the town I was in.   
He sits down across from me, mug in hand and he smiles.

"I hope you down mind,"

Voice, filled with honey and it has me smiling wider in return.

"All the other seats are full, and I didn't want to risk going out there."

I nod, understanding, and there's a pause as we both stare out into the falling rain.

"I'm Jeonghan." he introduces himself, reaching out a hand covered by a tight fitting glove and I shake it, his grip is tight and confident.

"I'm Seokmin."

"That's a beautiful name." This smile of his was all teeth and it warmed my heart more than a coffee ever really could.

"Thank you."

We strike up conversation, and I slip into my new self easier than I ever thought I could.

Lee Seokmin. 21, finished college early and working on getting my doctorate in social studies.   
Not all lies, I did graduate early and was working on my doctorate before I left.   
I have a friend named Jisoo, and my new self used to live in Japan before moving to South Korea. It was easy to pull off, seeing as when he asked me to speak to him in Japanese I was able to do it flawlessly. You have a lot of time when you're alone, and so I picked up the language no sweat.

  
I'm not interested in me though, I'm interested in him and I try to learn more.   
He's Yoon Jeonghan, 23 and working as a bartender as he tries to pay off his tuition.  He sings, and plays the guitar and loves spicy food, only ever drinks his coffee black or with chocolate. He has friends by the name of Minghao, (he's Chinese, as I learn), and Chan.

Minutes turn to hours and he gets lost in himself, and I don't mind because each word has me on the edge of my seat and all of a sudden he's telling me trauma and hurt and pain that I've never felt and I wish I could get my hands on a piece of his soul and write it out 'til it was okay again.

I don't know why but he trusted me, but im sure i was the first open ear he had in awhile. I don't know why but I felt like it was all truly worth it with him. The storm passed by, the hours feeling like minutes and as the rain was left to patter along the pavement all I wanted to do was stay. Hold onto the last few moments with all I had. He had to go, I did too, or so I suppose.

  
"I'm sorry." He whispered, drawing into himself as if he wished he could disappear as well.

"What for?"

  
"I'm not entirely sure anymore, if I'm being honest."

His eyes meet mine, they're glass like and the reflect the lightning as is flashes. Pain. Hurt. Reliving the past.

"I won't see you again, will I?" he asks in a quiet voice, as if he knows who I really am and where I've been.   
I want to reach out and grasp his hand, take him home like he's some hurting puppy. But I can't.   
I won't.   
Seokmin isn't that person anymore.

  
"You might not."

I don't want to lie. I don't want to break him, he seems fragile. He's been through too much.

The rain drips down. One drop merging with a puddle. He smiles.

"Thank you, Seokmin." He said. He's gone.

He's smiling and I know I've helped somehow.

  
I'm not sad. I'm not happy. My mind is not here.   
__________________________________


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay so from now on, I'm going to be posting individual character chapters on their own, to highlight everything that's going to happen. I see it as a way to not be as distracted ( at least for me personally ) and be able to focus on one at a time. I hope you all enjoy this chapter

m i n g y u

  
we're out of the bath, both of us toweled dry but drops of water still drip from out hair, and for the first time in forever, I  don't want to go back to bed. I don't want to cry, my head hurts, I don't want to lay down just because that's what my body wants to do, I want to escape these walls, and I can't take it anymore.

I don't want to be sad. I don't want to mourn and be miserable.   
It isn't healthy, to feel trapped.   
It isn't healthy, to have your health, both mental and physical, deteriorate.

"Mingyu?" His voice is quiet, and it cracks a bit, breaking me again and again.

I want to scream until my throat is raw.

 It's killing me to see him like this and I refuse to leave his side, of course I couldn't. As much as I was mourning the loss of you, I was mourning the loss of Wonwoo more. He lost that spark, that thing that made him. It was scrubbed away, washed out and he seemed like an empty shell at times. It made me want to let go of myself and fall with him.

 I just want to save him.

I see how hurt he is. In the way he moves, the way is body shakes against mine as I hold him through panic attacks, I want to be there but I'm hardly here. I'm trying so so hard it nothing seems right anymore. And I just wish it would.

He speaks the words that have been stuck on my mind, plaguing me.

"I want to leave. The apartment, these walls, I want to get away for awhile."

I almost wanted to cry with relief, kiss him, and run away from here with his hand in mine.

Instead I run my hand down the side of his face. He's gotten skinner, no one else would notice but I do, and it's making me want to just feed him until he gained more weight, he was skinny enough before.

"Where do you want to go?" I say it in a quiet whisper, and his eyes are focused on the floor, not looking me in the eye.

"Anywhere but here."

Valid answer.

I help him get dressed, in one of my shirts. It helps him relax, it's too big on him but it doesn't matter at this point. Nothing does. I throw on a shirt, sweat pants, and I grab both of us jackets just in case.

We stand in front of the door leading out of the apartment. Holding hands. Almost as if we step out we can never go back. That's a good thing, right? It seems so intimidating. I'm not ready to brace the world outside the walls but I have too, I need too, I want to, we need to get away.

His grip tightens and I don't have to do the deed. He reaches out with his free hand, twisting the knob and letting the light from the hallway flood in and he steps out, almost dragging me to the elevator. I don't have time to be shocked, because the second it opens he pulls me in, resting his head against my shoulder as of he already wants to go back. I don't want to. I can't.

He stands up straight, the floors ticking down as we near the bottom. 3. 2. 1. L.   
We're here.   
This time, we walk together, embracing the cool night air. It flows through our still damp hair, chilling me to the bone but other than that it feels so nice. I'm breathing, fresh, outside air, that doesn't feel stuffy or suffocating. I feel Wonwoo's grip tighten and he takes a deep breath. Holding it.   
Slowly letting it go through pursed lips, letting the stale air that resided deep within his lungs out and I think he feels the same way I do.

I think he feels okay.

And that's more than enough for me


	5. Authors note

_Authors note;;_

 

_hello everyone! This is kind of just a small PSA. I do realize that I haven’t updated this story in well around a month now, and I do feel like guilty about it because this story is still my child, I’ve just been taking a bit of a mental health break in a ways. I’m still writing it, I’m still loving on it and trying to do my best to edit it to my liking, and hopefully, I’m praying that I will have the next chapter out sometime this month. I’m so sorry to all the lovers of this story, but if you do enjoy my style of angst then I am currently writing another story with more frequent updates called **to all the times they didn’t** and that’s really cool too. _

_I pray that this story still has support, and I’m so sorry or not updating as I should be_

 

_x Gann_


	6. Chapter 6

     s o o n y o u n g 

 

i was trying to do something that in the end would make no difference.

i was shouting stop to someone i thought was a friend, i was struggling against the duct tape binding my hands, and i was crying like that could fix anything.

 

65\. 70. 78. 80. 90.

 

going too fast, swerving too much, the person behind the wheel too intoxicated and i was scared. 

breathing heavy, struggling, and the hand on my thigh was moving too close, i was screaming but i couldn't hear anything, my heart pounding in my ears. tears running. helpless. fighting. making no difference because in the end it would happen.

and it does.

 

my heart skips a beat, scraping, metal against metal, grinding, tires squealing, head and heart pounding, a stabbing pain in my side, shattering glass, blood coating my fingertips, more screaming, and it isn't my own and everything freezes.

it feels like hours pass.

the blair of sirens, lights flashing, the seatbelt that had me trapped being cut away, i'm being picked up and set on a gurney, my eyes open for a split second and i see someone who's past the point of saving and i'm helpless.

duct tape is cut through, arms being tied down, and i'm going to be okay, at least that's what i'm told. and that's what i have to believe in.

 

 

I'm shaken back to today. Shaken back to the hospital bed, the off-putting sterile smell, and the blank stared doctors around me with copies of my chart. Observing me like I'm some experiment gone wrong.

Thankfully, today is the day I've been waiting for, and these doctors aren't here to study me anymore, I don't have to deal with their false sympathy, I'm being released from this hell hole of a sanctuary.

 

I'm given prescriptions to pick up, five to be exact, 2 for pain and 3 for head junk. PTSD. Trauma. The fun stuff. Like I wasn't pumped up full of drugs already just by being there.

It's today, and today is the day when I go to the funeral of the person who was killed in the crash.

 

The person who I saw.

 

The person that could have been me.

 

I sign all required papers, my sister has to pick me up because according to the papers, I couldn't drive, stupid in my opinion, but honestly I don't want to at this point. I'm feeling sick just being a passenger. I'm changing into the suit she thankfully brought at my request, and her eyes flick from the road onto me, the bandages that cover stitches running up and down my side, the bruises decorating my torso and face. 

 

"are you sure you want to do this?"

 

This is what feels like the millionth time she's asked, and for the millionth time it's the same answer.

 

"completely."

 

I am. I want to do this, it's the right thing, I don't feel an obligation because in the end it's my choice. I know I'll be out of place but I don't give a fuck.

I played a part in this, and I need to see this out, pay my dues and regain my inner peace.

 

She blindly takes my hand in hers, squeezing it tightly in reassurance.

 

"i trust you, alright? don't make me regret it." she says it with a smile and I can't help but laugh.

 

She pulls into the parking lot and turns to adjust my tie, looking me in the eye and making me promise to be safe.

 

She holds out her pinky.

She's serious.

 

I nod, hook my pinky with hers and I step out of the car, shutting the door behind me as I take the fated steps up to the ominous building.

 

I open the door with a deep breath.

 

I walk in.

 

I'm greeted with the saddest eyes I've ever come across, and the owner is wearing a pure white suit.

 


	7. Chapter 7

j u n

 

measuring tape in hand, climbing up the less-than-secure ladder, and exactly one foot from the other painting i make a barely visible mark with the pencil i had stuck behind my ear.  
the doorbell rings, and I almost fall off the ladder, once, twice, three times, almost as if someone's holding it down. I look at the clock. 4:02 am. Minghao.

 

I climb down carefully, going the the door and I take a deep breath, blinking sleep from my tired eyes as I open it and he stumbles in, burying his face in my chest before I even have the chance to say hello. He's crying. I shut the door and wrap my arms around him, he's cold and it makes me want to pull away out of instinct. I don't. I won't. I tilt his head up until his eyes meet mine, filled to the brim with tears and full of hurt, sorrow, sadness. Beautiful. Ugly. Poetic.  
 I sit him down on the couch and hand him the cup of tea I never make for myself, but for him.  
Just in case.  
The tea leaves float carefully at the top at he stares at it, mesmerized. I sit next to him, inches away but it feels like miles, we both stare. Not thinking.  
he lifts the delicate porcelain to his lips, they look red and bruised, not unusual. I wish it wasn't, and the thought makes my brain hurt.  
His knuckes  
are red.  
hair a  
mess  
tear streaks  
running  
down his neck.

 

a neck covered in purple and red blooms, love bites, love marks, hickeys. my hand moves without me willing it to, reaching up and touching my own neck, tracing on my skin where his marks are. Mapping it out on my own skin. Wanting, it on my own skin.  
I get up, I can feel his eyes follow me across the room as I climb back up the ladder, grabbing the hooks for the wall on my way up.

 

  
"hey junnie?" his voice sounds strained and raw, like he'd been screaming. He probably has been.

 

"yeah hao?"

 

"why do we exist?"

 

surprisingly, not the deepest question that has arisen in our time together.  
I stare at the wall in front of me, thinking.

 

"well, I suppose it would depend on who you ask."

 

I look over my shoulder, and he stares at me in thought.

 

"but what if I'm asking you?"

 

he catches my there and I pause, turning around and I sit on top of the ladder and stare at the ceiling.

 

"I would say that I believe in reincarnation. That nothing in this world is final. So no matter what happens in this life, things will keep going. We're just here to live, and keep the world from falling to pieces. There's enough misery and woe in this world for eons, yet no one is _living_ like they want to. Not even me."

I look to him in longing, regret flooding my veins. Why does he have to ruin himself like this? I stare at the ceiling.

"People all think they get a miracle. I did too. But I found that _I_ don't get a miracle, so I have to stick around long enough to be a miracle for someone else. That's why I exist, at least. It's up to you to figure out why you exist though."

 

 I look back his way and he smiles, as if that's the answer he was somehow looking for. He's beautiful, and he takes another sip of tea, nursing it in gentle hands and I stare at the steam rising from it and curling until it disappears.

 

He drinks until there's nothing, he takes his left hand, slowly and carefully inverts the cup over the saucer. he leaves the cup upside down, knowing his has to wait for at least one minute, and we both stare, waiting. he then rotates it three times. turns the cup back upright, positioning the handle south. Tea leaves should be stuck to the cup in a variety of shapes and clusters, embedded with insight and answers. Now, it's time to tell their story.  
He looks up the ladder, silently asking me to come read them. Climbing down for what feels like the umpteenth time, the painting can wait at this point, and I take the cup from his hands.

  
It reads misfortune, depression and misery, but I tell him things will get better and pray he believes me. I was never a good liar

 "You should get some sleep." I find myself saying, despite having the knowledge he'll leave tomorrow, and I wont see him for days. He nods, giving up. Not fighting it.  
 I carry him and we sleep in my bed, curled around each other like when we were kids

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

w o n w o o 

 

He’s a different person. I sit next to him and the realization comes that he’s not who he used to be.

He’s not the Mingyu I knew before. It’s like I’m having to introduce myself all over again. Suffer through lack of conversation topics, and learn who he is, all over again.

This Mingyu is quiet, and reserved, and he’s worried he’ll break me in two. he doesn’t talk like he used to. This Mingyu's voice is small and broken. No longer full of that soul shaking charisma that could have someone on their knees in seconds.

this Mingyu is more touchy and more anxious and he’s so scared that it scares me.

but this Mingyu pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up, offering it to me. And the Wonwoo I am now takes it between my fingers and inhales like my life depends on it. the Mingyu looks to me in adoration and as I hand it back my lungs are burning. I can’t find it in myself to give a damn.

“who would’ve thought I’d ever see you smoking. I guess a lot has changed. more than I thought.” he says, taking a drag and blowing rings into the air. the Mingyu I knew would never touch a cigarette, let alone have enough experience to blow rings. It makes me question how much I actually knew about him.

I bury my head in my hands.

“Why do bad things happen to good people?”

“Why do bad things happen to anyone?” Mingyu says.

“Because some people are just bad, some people deserve it. He didn’t. I don’t. You don’t.”

Mingyu laughs. “What makes us any more or less deserving than anyone else? Death is the only god who comes when you call, misery is a guarantee, you can be good or bad but fate makes its rounds. Maybe it was supposed to happen.”

“None of this was supposed to happen.” I say and Mingyu pauses mid drag. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love, he wasn’t supposed to love me back but it happened and now he’s gone? He wasn’t supposed to leave me, not like that. He wasn’t supposed to die.” A tear makes its way down my cheek.

“We’re all supposed to die, some of us just go earlier than others.”

I choke out a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“You know, I feel guilty a lot of the time.” He sits next to me. “You’re suffering so much, and I’m right there with you, right here with you. I don’t do enough, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how to fix any of it.”

“I feel guilty too. You’re suffering because I’m suffering. I can’t help but wonder, if I was okay would you be too?”

“I don’t know Wonton.” He uses my old nickname. “Nothing feels ‘okay’ right now. It doesn’t have to. I mean, someone died for gods sake, that’s a good reason to not be okay.”

“I wish I could go back in time and never have met him. Things would be a lot easier.”

“But you can’t. You fell in love, and there’s no changing that. It’s not your fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on Instagram ;; @universe_factory_

**Author's Note:**

> there are many more chapters to come, and I'm going to try and update every other week or so. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated <3


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